Folklore, The Lost Souls
by Yuuki.Nagato
Summary: This is just the beggining of a small project of sorts that i started a while back with my friend. I understand it is raather long, but i overall prefer the novel writing style, other then the usual Fan faction style. Any criticism is welcome, thank you


Chapter one – The Village of Death

An occult magazine, huh?

I seldom read any magazine at all, but occult?

Seemed rather interesting.

The only reason I was reading it was because my mother had bought it for me in a rare moment of generosity, and I had no new books to read.

I placed the magazine and the slices of bread I had brought up to my room with me on my bedside table and threw myself onto the bed, then reached for the magazine. As I shuffled and wriggled into a suitable reading position, hungrily stuffing my mouth with bread at the same time, I froze, bread falling from my mouth, staring half pensively into the front cover.

"_Doolin, Village of the Dead, Gate to the Netherworld._"

It took me a second or so to react. I stared dauntingly at the page, forgetting about the bread in my gaping mouth and not caring when it fell out. There was something about the headline that was so... indescribably catching. I couldn't describe it. I flipped through the pages quicker than a bullet to target to find the article, and when I read it I obsessively believed every word.

"_I received a mysterious phone call from a person who claimed to being stalked by Fairies_."

Interesting

Hang on... fairies? I thought, picking up another piece of bread and tearing off a large hunk with my teeth. I was quite interested in Fairies, or as I called them "Faeries", from the traditional Irish folklore. But I have never heard about an _actual_ Netherworld before. Sounded a bit too good to be true if you ask me...

I regained my line of thought, and eagerly read on.

"_The village is small; to me it was rather foreboding at first. And it was even more foreboding as weird things started happening. Maybe it's just my curiosity, but the pub was open at night, so I thought maybe a late night drink would be pretty chilling._ _Well... As I walked in, I saw creatures, strange creatures that spoke to me… it's just a dream, isn't it? Right… that's what I thought too, but my imagination? Nah, I couldn't possibly have created those things in my dreams. What they said did catch my attention, it was regarding this girl I followed to this place and another dimension called the 'Netherworld'._"

I was completely intrigued by this article.

"_I know what you are thinking. This guy must be insane or drunk, how can anybody believe this crap? I don't blame you for thinking that, considering how many fakes there have been. But aren't you even slightly curious about these 'Halflings'? Don't you just want a harmless glimpse what the Netherworld is like before you judge? Well, if you are the intelligent and curious sort, just wait until my next article_."

I stared emptily at the article for a minute or two, completely astounded by what I had just read. Whatever he said, that was all the evidence I needed. Snapping out of my flabbergasted state, I switched on my computer and allowed my uncontrollable curiosity to roam.

Six days later...

It was the day before the school holidays began. My parents were going on holiday... without me.

Perfect.

It was funny – at first it seemed absurd, but after a lot of thinking, it was actually pretty easy to get to Doolin from where I lived. It would probably be a days' worth of travelling, catching different buses and trains, which wouldn't be too much of a problem. And when I get to Doolin, I will just find somewhere to stay. I mean, I have the money.

I had my train tickets, ferry and coach tickets ready within half an hour, thanks to the Internet. No permission or anything. I would have gone even if I'd asked my parents – I had to go there, no question about it. For a chance for my mundane life to change, I'd do anything in a heartbeat. And this was far from difficult; all I had to do was take a train to the coast of England, then a ferry to Ireland and several buses and trains.

Simple.

This didn't go down too well with my friend Frank however, when I told him after school – the last day of the school year – as we were walking home through park. In fact, he threw the magazine at my face. This should give you some idea of his reaction. As I picked it up of the floor, rubbing the spot above my eye where the corner of the magazine had scraped it, I explained that I was planning on going to Doolin myself the day after.

"What the _hell_? You are joking." Frank stopped walking, turned to me and stared at me, a cold, expectant gaze. Silence followed, before he began pacing from one side to the other. I sank down on the park bench. "So... You're going all the way to Ireland because of some magazine you read, that you don't even know is real..." He shook his head violently and picked up pace, glancing at me angrily every few seconds. "Okay, you're just taking this too far now. You're going to Ireland during half-term which starts tomorrow, for what logical reason?"

"If you actually read the magazine you would know! There's just something about the guy who's written it... I know he's telling the truth!" I crossed my arms in defence. "I looked it up on the internet too, and apparently there's been a lot of strange activity in this village... And I want to investigate them for myself. You know what my life's like, Frank... I just want to get away. And this seems like the perfect opportunity."

And he really did know how I felt about my life; he was the only person I confided anything to. The dull, repetitive cycle of each day, my uptight religious parents who saw me as a nuisance they'd rather get rid of. The only friend I had was Frank because everyone else saw me as a freak, an outsider. I was desperate for change. It had to change, or I wouldn't survive.

There was another long silence as he stared at me again, looking confused as though he couldn't quite figure me out. He tore away his gaze and grabbed my shoulders, shaking them slightly.

"Michael Donovan,_ please_ don't tell me you are actually being serious."

Why was he being like this? I thought he'd be really into it. I thought he'd understand.

I sighed in exasperation and attempted to shove him away. "Thanks again for your encouragement, Frank. I at least thought I might get some understanding from my _best_ and _only _friend." I exaggerated the 'best' and 'only' to really get the point across to him the importance of our friendship. I gave him a final shove, threw my arms in the air and walked away.

"Michael... wait. I'm sorry..." He sounded sheepish but genuine, his voice pitch lowered. I turned to him slightly, staring at him defiantly.

"I don't know what to say, but, well... have fun," he said, the sarcasm returning to his voice. I shrugged slightly and my face broke into a smile as he put his hand on my shoulder in friendly gesture.

"_If_ you do find anything interesting, you will tell me, right?"

I smirked and returned his sarcastic tone. "Maybe."

We walked in silence for a few minutes, until we were at the crossroads where Frank went in the direction of his house and I went to mine. "Well, see ya," said Frank.

"See ya." I began my weary trudge up the steep hill – if I wanted to walk with Frank after school I had to go up it to get to my house. I was nearly halfway up when Frank shouted out, "Don't get killed!"

I turned back and replied "I'll try!" We both laughed. I gave him a final wave, feeling an unexpected rush of dismay as I wondered when the next time I'd see him again would be – and then went our separate ways.

Well, you know, it was only a joke...

I didn't get much sleep that night. In truth, I got none. I guess I was too excited to sleep. When it was morning, and I was lying in bed, I listened to my parents getting ready to leave; they were so loud I couldn't help but.

"Should we bring that?"

"No, we can't, there won't be enough room!"

"Have you got the passports?"

"Yes... actually, erm... wait a second... Oh for God's sake, where have you put them?"

"Me? I haven't put them anywhere!"

And so it went on, for at least an hour. Man, they sure do take long. Sometimes, at moments like this, I realised how much more organized I was than my parents.

I looked at my clock. It was nearly ten o' clock; they would miss their plane if they didn't leave soon. They always had to check over and over again they hadn't forgotten anything – often so busy concentrating on remembering the important things, like passports and money, that it resulted in them forgetting other things like sun lotion and spare socks. They were completely and utterly hopeless.

I heard my door opening and lay completely still. "Michael? Are you awake?" whispered my mother. I didn't reply; she would only go through the long list of things I was and wasn't allowed to do while they were away. After a few seconds she closed the door again.

After just a few seconds, the front door slammed shut. It sent an excited quake through my nerves. I took a deep breath and rose from the bed, gasping at the biting cold outside the warmth nest of my duvet, and walked over to my closet to get the shoulder bag I had packed the night before.

I put on my glasses and then got dressed quickly in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and dark hooded jumper before doing a final check to make sure I had everything – camera, Mp4 player, money, mobile phone, a map of Ireland, the magazine itself, print outs from the Internet, wallet, notebook, laptop, a few spare pieces of clothing and a couple of bars of chocolate... Not much, but it was all I needed.

I packaged them back neatly into the bag and walked to the door, stopping briefly to scan my room for anything I may have forgotten.

The only thing that caught my attention was the massive piles of course work on my desk. I smirked and walked into the kitchen, searching through all the cupboards for anything I could have for breakfast. Yes! There was a couple of bits of bacon in the fridge. I cooked and ate them as quickly as I could, eager to get on my way. I doubted they'd care... but just in case, I hastily scribbled a note to my parents. I didn't want some kind of manhunt for me when they got back.

I wrote:

Hi mum and dad, don't worry about me - I'm fine. I just needed to get away for a bit, but I'll be back soon. Just don't send the police after me, it'll be a waste of time; I'm coming back soon. Michael.

I stared at the note after I'd written it; was it a lie, would I come back? I left it on the kitchen table. Then I grabbed my bag and my thickest coat, wound a scarf around my neck and stepped out the door into the bitter morning mist.

The sound of the door closing behind me made my throat close up, and I staggered slightly. I never felt like that leaving the house; but it was different this time. I might not return. Funny, I didn't think I'd care in the slightest.

Nonetheless, I turned from the door, and continued down the road.

I got the bus to Worthing train station – from there, I took a train to Portsmouth, then walked from there to the port and sat down in the departure lounge, surrounded by excited families. The journey was rather tedious (and expensive), but it gave me some time to sleep and some time to think about things. Things I was about to attempt. Why the hell I doing this? What was the place like? Questions revolving though my subconscious, simple questions with impossible answers.

Was Frank right? _Could_ the story all be lies? When I asked myself this, I just blocked the thought of the answers being yes. I had come too far to let myself doubt what I was doing.

I found myself lost in a daydream of questions, revolving around my subconscious. A loud overhead voice broke though my thoughts as I leaned against a wall at the port. My ferry was about to depart.

"I'm really going to do this, aren't I..." I murmured to myself. I paused and laughed slightly, pushing of the wall, and walked quickly towards the ferry.

It was still quite early and the ferry was destined to arrive at Ireland at 5 pm. A six hour journey. I went to the front of the ship and huddled on one of the couches and look out the window at my only way back. But I didn't take it. Because I didn't know. Not then.

As the ship slowly left the harbour, I felt the surge of fatigue from lack of sleep as I stretched out over three seats, and despite the noise I fell asleep almost straight away.

My eyes opened with a start, my vision blurry, awoken by a loud overhead speaker telling the passengers that the ship was to arrive in Wexford Port in five minutes. The faint but sudden light from a light bulb burned my eyes; it took me a second to avert my gaze. I rubbed my eyes fiercely and looked out the window with surprise.

"We've arrived already?" I yawned. It felt like I'd only just fallen asleep. I checked the time on my phone, only to find I had indeed slept though the whole journey. I stared pensively at the clock, still looking after the screen darkened.

It was a rather uneventful journey from then on – the only thing to do was admire the solitude of Irish landscape, gazing at the beautiful inky sky, until my body fell unconscious from the tedious boredom. Quiet. That was, until I was forced to stay awake during the painful, tedious hours of nightfall to get off the coach.

The others getting off the coach headed off towards town; I turned back and began walking through the fields on the outskirts. I couldn't see for more than a few hundred metres because of the dense early morning fog. It was quite nice, despite the cold – better than the mornings in Storrington at least. I must have walked for hours; it was midnight when I got off the ferry, and I walked until I saw the sun rise up into the sky, stopping every so often to check I was in the right direction. I was so excited that the growing ache in my feet didn't matter.

A surge of electric excitement charged through my body when I finally walked past the rotted wooded sign that read "Doolin", enjoying the soft rhythm of the frost-crusted grass crunching under my trainers.

It was so tranquil... I instantly fell in love with the place.

Although... and I didn't want to admit I could have been wrong, but in all honesty, this was not a place I would expect the gates to the Netherworld to be. But I was at least going to enjoy my stay.

I stopped and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling of the gentle breeze of arctic-cold air on my face. I looked across the horizon, savouring its rugged beauty – the rugged countryside to my right, the sea to my left. Then I noticed a strange arc over the edge of the cliff; _interesting_, I thought_. As it's too early to go into the village, I might as well check it out..._

As I approached the cliff edge, evading rabbit holes and vicious-looking bushes as I went, I noticed a crow standing at the edge under the arc. It was staring at me – well, glaring would be a better word to use. Its hard stare sent a slight shiver down my spine, and a feeling of uncanny fear in my nerves. Its eyes were painful to look at. Both glowing, making my vision blur and a shock of pain through my head as they moved. One was a vibrant emerald, the other a dark blue, nearly black. Its luminous stare set dark holes in my vision, bringing more pain to my eyes than the sun.

At the point where I felt my eyes and head were going to detonate, it swiftly flew off just as a mighty gust of wind pushed me forward, making me stagger as a barrage of autumn leaves surrounded my body and flew off the cliff edge, my hair flying in my face and my scarf threatening to escape from my neck. The wind died and the leaves fell, my scarf resting as I wiped my dark hair out of my face. The crow was gone from sight. I stared though the arc where the crow had been sitting; but although the crow itself had gone, dark holes still embed in my vision.

The holes were growing larger, to the point where I couldn't see; I stumbled blindly and tripped over my own feet. _Way to go Michael,_ I thought irritably, as I struggled to stand up. But only a few seconds after being blinded, the holes just suddenly disappeared, and I could see again, albeit a little blurred. What the hell _was_ that? I stood there for a moment, trying to get my breathing pace back to normal; I still felt shaky. There wasn't something right about that crow – its eyes were enough to tell me that. I sank back to the ground and replenished my fatigue with a bag of crisps.

The sea was vast and grey, but pretty from here, the wind gently rippling the surface into white-tipped waves. It was rhythmic and calming, replacing the constant ringing in my head from the eyes of the crow with a feeling of serenity. 

"Oh, pull yourself together," I told myself forcefully. "It was just... just a crow." At least, that was what I told myself. But I didn't believe it for a moment.

The pounding in my head eventually stopped, as did my quivering hands. The wind occasionally blew leaves up from the ground, lightly flowing against my head. Falling into the sea, only to be dominated by the waves.

It was silent; I couldn't even hear the smash of the waves against the towering cliff face. As if the fog muffled everything out.

I sat there for a while, gazing unconsciously at the immeasurable ocean. The wind nearly blew me over the edge when I first rose to my feet. I swung my bag over my shoulder, stepping back slightly, and looked back down the path, then to the village. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, and quietly began trudging towards the small village. 

Doolin itself was miniscule, only five or six quaint houses on each side of the tiny 'town' centre. It could barely be called a village. In the background, towering over Doolin, was a light house. It had an aura of emptiness and abandonment, like the rest of the place. And even as I got closer to the village, it didn't get any less silent.

I noticed a pub, and began walking towards that; hopefully it would be open.

The sound of my feet when I reached grassless ground startled me and I started to tiptoe; it was the only sound in the abandoned, sinister silence of the village.

I paced vigilantly to the entrance, staring up at the great wooden door.

"_Meoooooow_..."

The sound, quiet as it was, shocked me and made me leap back, only to trip over the untied laces on my shoe. I was left in a panting, groaning heap on the floor – and I was only embarrassed further when I realised it was only an old ginger cat, sitting motionless on some barrels just next to the door.

"_Meoooooow_..." it went again, before licking its paw and pouncing off the barrels. I watched it mooch down the path for a while, before taking a deep breath, and pushing the pub door open.

A small bell sounded as the door opened, making me flinch again. It was so silent in this odd place that the slightest noise made me jump about a foot in the air. I closed the door behind me and slowly observed the room.

The pub was quite large; it had a bar taking up the back right corner, and to the left of the room was a small fireplace with two old armchairs by it. There were several wooden chairs and tables at the back, standing on faded red rugs. Above the fire place was a deer-head mantle on the wall – it almost shocked me, as I was not used to such decorations where I lived.

I looked to the other side of the room. On the far side, there were photos, posters and leaflets completely covering up the far wall. At the bar were classic high wooden chairs with low backs, with small round mats underneath. A small radio at the far end, and the wall at the door was covered by a long window.

Unexpectedly, the door I hadn't seen concealed at the back of the bar swung open. A towering dark-haired man of powerful stature entered; his face broke into a smile when he saw me standing there.

"Aye there. What's this then, eh? We don't get visitors here often. You must be a brave soul to have come in." His voice was lucid and gravelly, with a strong, inviting Irish accent. He sounded friendly enough, but I still froze up slightly, in fear of such direct social contact with a complete stranger.

"Hmm... I guess you're the quiet type, eh?"

I nod warily.

"Well, what do you need? Directions maybe? Or did you come in for a pint?" He roared with laughter at his own joke.

"Erm... well, ah, a-a-actually I came... I came to stay here for a week...and I-I-I was wondering if you do, erm, rooms here?" I stuttered, staring at the floor. I had never been good with strangers.

"Aye, we do," he replied, picking up a cloth and polishing a few pint glasses left on the side of the bar.

"So, er, how much would it be for, uh..." I paused. "For 6 days"

"You came to visit? I ask myself every time we get visitors, how and why someone would want to stay here. This place is dead, m' boy. Only me and m' daughter, Mrs. Lester, and a lot o' death stories."

I stared at him with wide eyes, shocked.

"You're saying there are only two residents living in this village?" I answered finally.

"Aye, m' boy." I paused slightly, unsure what to say next.

"So... erm, how much would it cost for me to stay in a room for a, er, week?

He just roared with laughter again.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me, lad. Why are you here, anyway? And how old are you anyway?"

"I-I'm just... er... travelling through Ireland," I replied, ignoring his question about my age. "I'm just wandering through... but, er, I've been interested in this village for some time... and thought I might stay, for a while. It seems a nice place."

We both paused. The landlord ceased wiping the glasses. My hands started shaking as he fixed me with a hard stare. He put the glass down and leaned his arms on the counter, the laughter in his face had gone completely.

"I'm sorry to say, lad, but this place isn't safe for outsiders. Bad things have happened in the past." He paused. "Now. I suppose I can give you a room. But I'm warning you. You'd better be careful. I can't take responsibility for if anythin' happens to you. You do know what's happened here, don't you? What sort of place this is? It's not all it seems."

I nodded slowly.

"I'm aware of what you mean," I replied slowly. "And I will heed your warning. And I'll take the room." I spoke more confidently as I look up to him. "How much will is the cheapest?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "A brave one, eh lad? Well, I suppose twenty-five Euros will cover it."

I nodded and smiled slightly, reaching into my pocket to get my wallet, taking out a thirty euro note. I closed my wallet, putting it back in my pocket, then passed him the note.

"You, erm... you can keep the change..."

He took the note, smiled at me, and put it in his pocket.

"Thanks lad. Here, walk around the counter an' I'll show you were y' room is."

I blinked slightly and followed him though the door at the back of the bar. The door led to a steep, spiral staircase, at the top of which was a long corridor of rooms. "Will this one do, lad?" He winked at me and gestured towards the door we were standing by, number six. I just smiled, sensing that it was a rhetorical question.

Before entering, he turned to me, a frown on his face. "You sure about this lad? There a plenty of fine villages just a few miles ahead..."

"I'll be fine," I reassured him, as he handed me the key. I took it and smiled, bowing slightly. "Thank you very much."

He slapped me on the shoulder, and looked at me with even more anxiety than before.

"Aye, well... you be careful, lad." He gave me a final pat on the shoulder, then turned and jogged down the stairs. I entered the room, shut the door behind me, and sat on my bed for a moment.

I had forgotten about the stories. The eerie beauty of village was enough to make me put them out of my mind. I also now remembered why there were so little people in this village – I wasn't sure of the details, but there had been a few... well, quite a lot of incidents that have happened in the past few years, where many people mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again. The most recent was just a few months before. There had been nothing about it in the news; I had gotten all the information I could from occult magazines. But I knew none of the crucial details.

As it came into mind, the small amount of suspicion I had towards of the door to the Netherworld being in this village, is a fearsome, yet convincing suspect for this. Shivers ran down my spine as those facts came to my mental realisation.

I failed to get to sleep that night. I started to think about why I came here. I had almost forgotten about finding what I came for in the first place: the Netherworld. I didn't want to admit to myself that I could have been wrong, but I finally had to acknowledge that this place just couldn't have any connection to Doolin, although it had its own quaint, inexplicable admiration. I doubted the Netherworld had any link to it. I dreaded the thought.

Maybe I was growing up from those juvenile beliefs; and that was the thought I feared the most.

There were some very interesting places around the village. After looking around them all, I looked at them each in better detail during the next three days.

The next day, I had a look at the lighthouse behind the village. It was made out of murky beige bricks, and stood well. I found the lighthouse door to be unlocked. And despite my best efforts, I still failed to keep myself from going in. It was dirty and abandoned. The rooms in a perfect state of preservation, with entire rooms filled with webs and dust. It was rather haunting, yet that wasn't enough to stop me from climbing through a small hatch at the top, and to stand in the bulb room at the very top.

It was an amazing view, but for fear of being noticed, I quickly took some pictures, and almost ran down the stairs.

The next day I looked around the church near the back of the village. All the grass around the graveyard was dead, and many crows stalked the remains, picking out worms from the patches of grass, squaring in ambient syncopation. The main entrance was locked, but I managed to find an open back door. It was dark. The stained windows dark from layers upon layers of web, blocking all colour from the glass. The large monument at the back of the hall, behind the alter, was covered entirely of confusing patterns of over lapping spider web, dense enough to stop a bird in full flight.

The occasional movement from the corner of my eye made me slightly nervous. There could have easily been hundreds of spiders in this place. This wasn't helped by the strange hospital beds and equipment in some of the rooms. They must have used this place as a hospital. But I wonder why these places are so neglected. Strangely, I noticed one of the rooms was perfectly rid of web and dust. And all the medical equipment was perfectly laid out, with the bed perfectly made.

It was odd.

The day after, I stayed and looked at the henge near the village. It was quite a beautiful piece of stone work. The grass here was still full and green. Completely different from the rest of the village. There were even some flowers still in bloom around the stones. There was a strange stone wall to one side of the henge. It was slightly worn away, but there was noticeable written inscription that were readable in some places. But not written in English. I guessed Irish Gaelic, but it was still interesting. I stayed there for the whole day, writing something, after taking far to many pictures. 

Back in my room a few night later, I started to slip into a semi-conscious state.

The darkness that of my room was creating strange, rippling patterns of colour, like the room was filling with water. My eyes felt like they were growing further apart from each other and the room was being torn in half, tugged in different directions, my eyelids weighed down suddenly like someone had tied rocks to my eyelashes. My heart began to beat increasingly faster and I started to sweat heavily. I shuffled around in the bed slightly, the sheets becoming heavy and damp around my body, tightening around me and squeezing the air out of my lungs.

I felt something alien in my head. Something alive and pulsing. I heard it speaking to me; strange sounds, inhuman, cruel and crazy. But it was a voice. A voice that chilled my blood and stopped my heart. It started off as one, and then more came; like there was an argument going on between them in my head, furious and violent screams and growls and cackles...

It was a mess of sound, but somehow I could hear every voice. I realised they were all repeating the same thing over and over but I couldn't work out what – and then they all stopped and only the first voice remained. I felt it moving around my head closer to my ear; I felt scraping fingernails and hot breath against my brain. Sweat meandered down my back and my face turned to ice and my hands began to twitch as I heard what it was repeating, what it meant each time getting louder but less distinguishable, shrieking and bawling...

"Seek the pub. Seek the pub. And you will find the answer you seek. Uwee-hee-hee-ha-ha-haa! Seek it! Seek it! Seek... seek... seek... You will find the answer... uwee-hee-hee-ha-haa!"

I felt the crazy laughter in my mind one last time, and then everything stopped.

Suddenly everything was back to normal. My eyes opened sharply and I realised I was no longer on my bed; I was lying in a contorted heap on the floor.

Immediately I thrust myself upward, and the head rush made me gasp and stumble. This was worse than a nightmare. Maybe it was a nightmare.

I hastily turned the lamp on, my sweaty hands sliding and fumbling over the switch. I had equal trouble picking up my glasses and putting them on with one hand, while leaning my hand against the wall for support – my knees were trembling so violently I could barely stand. I managed to pull on a T-shirt and jeans after struggling with shaking hands, before running my hands through my hair and wiping the sweat from my forehead.

I looked towards the door, and stared at it for a while. My mind was in conflict with itself, contradicting choices, fears, and opinions... I steadied myself, and not quite sure why I was about to do what I was about to do opened the door, careful not to make a single creak as I stepped forward and peered out.

I paused again, bit by bit closing the door behind me.

I walked down the stairs at an unbelievably slow speed, keeping one hand to the wall to feel my way. It was pitch black. An ominous darkness that clouded my sight and left me blind; a darkness that somehow silenced my ears, my senses all failing under its power. My head felt light, but I kept it steady and I landed to the bottom of the stair, turning to the door to the pub's main room.

My breath drawing even heavier, I slowly opened the door.

It was empty. The moonlight shining through the thick windows, filling the room with a misty white light, creating long shadows on the floor and bar. Small indents in the wood extending to long scratches across the wood. I slowly, placing one leg before the other, proceeded to the fire place, looking out into the mist covered night. I shivered, realising how cold I was, I trembled while looking back to the bar.

I sensed a light in the corner of my eye. My body was on the verge of fainting as I turned, in fear of the mantle head on the wall, half shadowed across the nose. Its glass eyes somehow seemed to be glaring down at me with negative intent.

At that point, a small tapping noise came from behind me, causing every muscle in my body to tense.

Tap.......tap.......tap.......tap

The tapping noise continued, stalking closer to me.

Tap.......tap.......tap.......tap....tap....

Silence..

"Uweehaahahahahaheehaaa!"

A terrifying sound screamed though my very fibre of existence, piercing every cell in my skin and stabbing my organs, burning my face and icing over my limbs... A powerful force came upon me; I tried to resist but I lost control over my body, falling helplessly to my knees as everything around me swirled into a black abyss of pain. My heart went silent. My blood stopped pulsing.

My mind finally gave way, swaying my conscious. My body laid motionless on the floor, broken and lifeless.

Folklore, The lost souls.


End file.
